


Does Enchantment Pour Out of Every Door

by useyourtelescope



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 01, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21901342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/useyourtelescope/pseuds/useyourtelescope
Summary: Some time after her trip to Sanditon Charlotte sets off on her next adventure, visiting London as Lady Susan's guest. While there she makes many new acquaintances, but soon finds she is most glad to renew an old one with Mr. Stringer.
Relationships: Charlotte Heywood/James Stringer
Comments: 62
Kudos: 134
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Does Enchantment Pour Out of Every Door

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redbrunja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redbrunja/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, redbrunja! 
> 
> Many thanks to Vae for help with canon and brainstorming, and to Louise for beta reading.

Since the beginning of their friendship, Charlotte had heard Lady Susan say a great number of astonishing things, but she was still far from becoming accustomed to them.

“Whatever can you mean?” Charlotte wondered, floundering at her friend’s latest comment. She had but remarked that since her renewed acquaintance with Mr. Stringer he had seemed more reserved than in Sanditon. She did not understand how that had led Lady Susan to wonder whether Charlotte was disappointed to find his “admiration” of her diminished. 

Lady Susan set down her paper on the breakfast table. "Well, you have certainly not been bereft of admirers these two short months in London, my dear. Is it a very great loss if Mr. Stringer no longer counts himself among them?"

"I have no concern over the quantity of my admirers," Charlotte replied hotly. It had been nearly two years since her trip to Sanditon had ended in heartbreak. She had originally meant to come to London eight months ago, once time had given her enough distance from the emotion that she had been willing to accept one of Lady Susan's invitations to stay with her in London. However, when her mother fell ill she had been required at home and it was only two months ago, after Mrs. Heywood had made a full recovery, that she had finally made the trip. By that time Charlotte had been eager for a change of scenery, but she had not been prepared for so many gentlemen to show her a marked partiality so quickly into her visit.

This was not, however, the concerning part of Lady Susan's comment.

"I only wonder at your counting Mr. Stringer as having been among them."

"Oh?” Lady Susan said somewhat delicately as she buttered another slice of toast. "Did you never think he showed you any partiality? For my part, I thought I detected a certain level of,” here she hesitated before finishing with, “interest when I was in Sanditon.”

"No, indeed,” came Charlotte's immediate response. "We were only friendly, that's all. And you were hardly in Sanditon,” she could not help but add.

"You are right of course, my dear. I have not your experience with the man so you must know him best. "

Charlotte felt this was something of a reproach, despite its amused delivery. To be sure, Lady Susan did have significantly more experience with men than Charlotte did, but even Lady Susan could be wrong sometimes. 

They dropped the subject, but the thought did not leave Charlotte so easily. Mr. Stringer, interested in _her_? Perhaps he had been more friendly with her than some of the other ladies in Sanditon, but that was precisely because they were friends rather than acquaintances.

Or had been friends, she supposed. Georgiana was the only Sanditon resident Charlotte kept an intimate correspondence with, but she still wrote to Mary Parker and the Parker children as well. From Mary’s letters, she learned that Mr. Stringer had eventually left Sanditon to take up an apprenticeship, albeit much later than he had originally intended. She had not known any further details, however, and so it had come as quite a surprise when she and Lady Susan had been taking tea at Mrs. Russell's, only for their host's husband to arrive at the house with his apprentice, Mr. Stringer.

Charlotte had been very pleased to see such a friendly face and he had returned her greeting most warmly at the time, smiling when she told him how glad she was he had followed his ambition and come to London. Mr. Russell, his already jovial nature buoyed by Charlotte’s interest in their architectural work, had offered her and Lady Susan a tour of his latest project. However, when the day came for their visit to the building site a week later, Mr. Stringer had seemed far less open, perhaps even reluctant to engage in conversation with her, which she had never thought him to be before.

She did not have to reflect on this confusing state of affairs for long, for less than a week later Charlotte was fortunate enough to happen upon the man in the library.

She hesitated only a moment before approaching him and though his response was perfectly civil she could not help but add in a low tone, “I hope I am not bothering you.”

“Not at all,” he replied, with a look that suggested he was concerned she might think it.

“Only, I…when I saw you last week I thought – well, it seemed that perhaps you did not wish to talk.” Feeling somewhat embarrassed, Charlotte added, “I know it has been some time since we last spoke, but I know so few people in London still and I would very much like it if we could be friends.”

“As would I. I am sorry for the other day, Miss Heywood. I was certainly glad to see you again,” he said with apparent sincerity. “It was only that I didn’t want Mr. Russell to think I was neglecting my work. And I must set a good example for the other men for when he leaves me in charge.”

“Of course.” Charlotte felt somewhat stupid for not realising it herself. In Sanditon Mr. Tom Parker had been quite loose with that sort of thing (and more besides), while the workers already respected Mr. Stringer. No one there would have thought anything of him stopping to speak to her, but it was clearly not the same in London. “I am sorry I did not think of it before. Perhaps you could call on me?” Charlotte suggested. When he responded with a sceptical look, she continued, “I am sure Lady Susan would be happy for any guest of mine to visit.”

He appeared unconvinced, adjusting his hold on his book before saying, “But is she not a particular friend to Mrs. Russell?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with a frown. For all Charlotte preferred her to many of Lady Susan’s other friends, she knew Mrs. Russell would find it quite untoward to be entertained in the same house as her husband’s apprentice. “I suppose that will not do either.” She huffed in exasperation. “I must say, for all its advantages, I sometimes find the rules of London society to be quite tiresome, Mr. Stringer.”

He laughed at her conviction. “I would agree with you there, Miss. I would never get this opportunity anywhere else, and for that I am extremely grateful, but I’m not sure I will stay once I am done.”

“Will you go back to Sanditon, do you think?”

“No, not Sanditon. Somewhere new,” he said decisively. “Somewhere I could design the whole town. One day. Mr. Russell says I should not get ahead of myself,” he added, ducking his head sheepishly.

Charlotte shook her head. “Why should you not plan for your dreams when you are lucky enough to already know what they are?” she wondered. “Surely that is what will help you achieve them.”

“Exactly so, Miss Heywood.”

Charlotte smiled back at him, pleased at the resumption of their easy discourse. It made her more determined to not drop the acquaintance. Despite the partiality that had been bestowed upon her in London that Lady Susan liked to tease her for, Charlotte had yet to meet anyone aside from her hostess who she felt she could speak frankly with. “Perhaps one day when you are at leisure we could go for a walk in the park? That is acceptable, I think – if you would like,” she hastened to add.

“I would, Miss.” 

They made the necessary plans for their walk and the following week Mr. Stringer called at Lady Susan’s at exactly the time arranged. She greeted him happily, in part because she was glad to see him, though equally because their plans had saved her from an invitation to tea with Mrs. Elton, whom Charlotte did not like above half. She responded to Mr. Stringer’s query of her preferred destination in this cheery state, which made his stiff reaction all the more marked.

"Do you not like it?” Charlotte wondered as they made their way down the street. “I thought it very pretty when I went last month.” 

His response was delivered slowly as they walked. "I have not been. I thought it was reserved for carriages.”

"Oh. Yes, I suppose I was in a phaeton," Charlotte recalled. 

“And did you like the ride, Miss Heywood?”

“Not as much as I thought I would.” At Mr. Stringer’s prompting, Charlotte explained, “I am no expert of course, and Mr. Farnsworth did insist that a phaeton can only be truly enjoyed at maximum speed, but I am not sure how one can obtain much enjoyment in a carriage when having to try quite so hard not to fall out of it.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“At least now I know I need not rush to relive the experience.” In contemplating the ride, Charlotte recalled in one of their brief blessed moments of trotting along amongst the other carriages that there had been a few pairs walking there as well. However, she wondered now if Mr. Stringer would still be reluctant to go. He was dressed somewhat differently than she remembered him from Sanditon, but his situation was still a far cry from that of Mr. Farnsworth or the many other wealthy men who had been driving their phaetons and barouches around the park. It was of no consequence to Charlotte of course, but she did not wish to make him feel uncomfortable.

"You have been in London for some time now I think, Mr. Stringer?"

“Almost a year, Miss.”

"And have you found any walks you particularly like?"

"Aye, a few."

"Would you mind sharing them with me?

Mr. Stringer readily agreed. He enquired after Charlotte’s other adventures in London as they walked to their new destination, which she was happy to relate. Small as they were, Mr. Stringer seemed to find them interesting as Charlotte supposed he was not able to attend such events himself.

“Oh, what a delightful building,” Charlotte observed, the charming sight halting her story of the last dinner party Lady Susan had taken her to. 

“I like it quite well myself, though there is another further down the street that I prefer.”

“Really? Which one?” Charlotte wondered. They discussed some of the more interesting features on the buildings as they continued down the street, all of which had a singular style which she had not yet seen. Mr. Stringer was in the middle of answering a question she had when she suddenly interrupted his speech, realising, "Mr. Stringer, is this where you were taking us for our walk?” She laughed when he responded positively. “I was expecting a park.”

“I know a very nice park just ten minutes away if you would like to go there instead,” he offered.

“No, indeed, you must finish your explanation. And I am very intrigued by that building over there. We can visit the park next time.”

He smiled broadly as he nodded. “As you wish, Miss Heywood.”

Their walks continued almost weekly for the following two months; the only irregularity in their meetings borne not from any lack of desire by either party, but by the necessary demands Mr. Stringer’s apprenticeship placed on his time. Their early conversations were easily filled with discussion of their lives since the time they shared in Sanditon, but where Charlotte had sometimes found herself struggling to fill the silence on outings with Mr. Farnsworth and her other admirers, she did not face such difficulties here, for they shared many similar interests and had the kind of temperaments that were open to discussion rather than discord if they disagreed on these subjects.

Most recently Charlotte had begun to share more stories about her family with Mr. Stringer, for they were much in her mind. She had been so busy in London that she hardly noticed the four months passing, which she did not think that long at any rate. And yet it had been time enough for a young and rich gentleman to settle in Willingdon, fall in love with her sister Alison, propose to her and be accepted. Charlotte was naturally pleased with her sister’s apparent happiness and tried not to show her astonishment that the letter announcing Mr. Stanton’s arrival was so swiftly followed by the news of the proposal when she wrote her response. A further benefit to this happy circumstance was that some of the Heywoods were to shortly come and stay with their future in-laws in London and purchase Alison’s trousseau.

Charlotte was extremely pleased to see them when they arrived, though she found it strange to be treated as if she was the expert on London when she certainly did not feel that way. The first few days of their arrival were spent almost entirely making purchases under the expert eye of Mrs. Stanton and Charlotte was glad when she and her younger sister Caroline were sent on a separate errand to the rest of the party, giving the sisters some much desired time to talk in private.

Caroline revealed she was privately worried that once their sister’s wedding had taken place their mama would take to reminding her of the need to find a husband next, with Charlotte being in London and not so easy to scold. Charlotte soothed her sister’s concerns for Caroline was still not quite nineteen and since she had an older sister unmarried in Charlotte, she did not think their mama would insist upon marriage just yet. For her part, Charlotte believed that now they had one daughter married – and to a man with five thousand a year, no less – their parents would not be concerned over the marriage status of the rest of their children for some time.

Or perhaps it was hope that led to this belief, for though Charlotte was no longer labouring under the heartbreak she’d suffered in Sanditon, she was not yet able to picture herself finding another man with whom she could contemplate marriage.

Charlotte was inquiring after her future brother-in-law, whom she had seen little of since Mr. Stanton had so far been busy settling some of his affairs in London, when they happened upon a familiar face.

“Mr. Stringer,” she said warmly, noting they were not far from the street where the building works he was overseeing were taking place. “Please allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Caroline Heywood.”

He greeted the girls with his usual bright smile, one even shy Caroline could not help but return. “And how are you enjoying London, Miss?”

“Oh, very well,” Caroline said enthusiastically. “I wish I could stay as long as Charlotte is. Why, soon we will have gone home and seen nothing but stores and though I was quite looking forward to them before we arrived, I never imagined there could be hardly so many as there are here."

Mr. Stringer laughed good-naturedly at this, but Charlotte felt it necessary to take the lead in the conversation when he asked after the remaining Heywoods and the upcoming wedding.

In the middle of telling him their plans for the day, Charlotte suddenly recalled, “Oh, Mr. Stringer, I was going to write to you this evening, as I’m afraid I will not be able to meet you for our walk this week. In fact, with all the preparations I am not sure when I will next be free.”

He accepted her apologies understandingly, stopping only for a few minutes longer before he bid them farewell to return to work.

“Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Caroline said prettily with a much-practiced curtsey. She waited until he was securely out of earshot to whirl on her sister. “Charlotte, is Mr. Stringer courting you?” she exclaimed.

“No, indeed,” she replied, astonished at her sister’s strange assumption.

“But you are going for walks together! Why, that is just what Mr. Stanton kept asking Alison to join him on shortly before he proposed.”

Charlotte refrained from commenting that there was little else to suggest in Willingdon, choosing to say instead, “And that is something friends can do as well. Just as you and I are now.”

“I suppose,” Caroline said with a frown. “Though, I don’t see why you said you would not go. To be sure, I would _much_ rather go for a walk with Mr. Stringer than spend another afternoon buying gowns that are all only for Alison anyway,” she muttered. Her voice took on a more wistful tone when she added, “He is so handsome.”

“Caroline,” Charlotte chided, remembering her duty as the eldest sister. “You would do well to remember that it will not do to judge a man only by his looks, as I have told you before. Mr. Stringer is a very amiable and hard-working young man and that is more significant.”

“I suppose,” Caroline allowed. “But _you_ would do well to remember that amiable and hard-working young men can be very handsome too.”

Charlotte laughed then, taking her sister’s arm as they continued down the street.

When it was decided that Charlotte would not travel back to Willingdon with her family, but instead a week later alongside the Stantons, she had no objections to this plan. It would give her an opportunity to better acquaint herself with her future brother-in-law for, though he seemed quite amiable, she had yet to glean what had won the affections of her sister quite so quickly. Furthermore, Lady Susan was most eager Charlotte prolong her stay as long as possible; having been desirous of her visit for so long she was not to be satisfied with a trifling four months. However, when evening fell two nights before her departure, Charlotte had reason to wish she had left the previous week: Lady Susan had learned that Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Parker were to be in attendance at that evening’s dinner party.

Charlotte had of course known all along the possibility of meeting them at such events. Georgiana’s letters kept her aware that the Parkers spent the bulk of their time in Sanditon – Georgiana and Sidney were thankfully on much better terms than they had once been, even if Charlotte’s friend took care not to mention him too often – but it was natural to expect they would sometimes be in London.

Although Charlotte insisted she did not wish to stay home – they were bound to cross paths eventually, after all – she was glad that she was able to avoid speaking to them directly for most of the evening. Charlotte had not sought Mr. Farnsworth’s company again after the ill-fated ride in his phaeton but received his attention most gratefully that evening. She was even more grateful for Lady Susan’s quick wit, keeping her spirits up, and the unexpected presence of Mr. Stringer. She could not talk with him as much as she would have liked, for he had been brought by Mr. Russell expressly to meet some businessmen in attendance, but she was glad to see his friendly face whenever their eyes caught from across the room.

She was not able to escape a conversation with the Parkers entirely, but afterwards Charlotte felt only an odd sense of relief. It was some comfort to know that she was strong enough to see them happy together and talk politely without feeling that she was crumbling. She did not feel so fragile as she once did.

Certainly, it was not down to them that she wished to leave before Lady Susan was ready, for that had become a regular occurrence in their outings. As much as she cared for the woman, her tolerance for dinner parties was far higher than Charlotte’s. On most occasions she found herself struggling to stay awake before Lady Susan wanted to depart, but tonight Charlotte was able to leave early. Considering the house was not that far and the night was warm, it did not make sense to wait for the carriage when she was longing to go to bed. It was not quite the done thing, but Charlotte longed for a walk to clear her head and Lady Susan could not object when Charlotte had a willing escort in Mr. Stringer.

“The food was very good tonight, wasn’t it,” Charlotte said when she realised they were not far away from Lady Susan’s home and she had not made much effort to speak.

“It was,” Mr. Stringer agreed easily. “But you need not make conversation if you do not feel like it, Miss.”

Charlotte shot him a small smile in gratitude. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stringer. I’m afraid I have been very poor company tonight.”

“Not at all. I understand why you might want some time to think, given the circumstances.”

Charlotte cringed. “Was it so very obvious that I felt awkward?”

He hesitated before answering. “Not very obvious, Miss.”

“But you still noticed.”

“True, but I… I knew you and Mr. Parker at Sanditon,” he explained. “I doubt others would have seen anything since they did not know a difference in your acquaintance.”

She nodded in understanding. “That is some relief, I suppose. And now that first meeting is over, I am sure the next one will be as if nothing had ever happened,” she said, with more cheer than she felt.

She expected a warm agreement from Mr. Stringer and was surprised to find silence instead. She looked over at him before he finally responded, “I would not wish you to be upset, Miss Heywood. But if you are, you need not pretend to be otherwise. Not with me, anyway.”

Charlotte could not but smile at this statement. “Thank you, Mr. Stringer.” They walked on a few more paces before she tried to explain her thoughts. “I think if I had seen Mr. Parker some time ago I would not feel as lightly on it as I do now. But, truly, I am not upset. I am happy, even, to know that time has helped us both forget and move on.” After, Charlotte worried her lip, feeling she may have spoken too openly; it was one thing to speak of her own feelings with Mr. Stringer, but perhaps she should not talk of Sidney’s.

Before she could attempt to correct herself, he uttered, “I doubt any length of time would be enough for a man to forget his feelings for you.”

Charlotte was startled into a laugh. “I’m sure it is not so impossible,” she said, still laughing.

“I am sure it is.”

Astonished, Charlotte stopped walking and turned to face Mr. Stringer fully. In the low light of the streetlamps, she struggled to parse his expression. He had also halted his steps, even more abruptly than she, and his face was set in a way she had never seen. She could not understand it, but she was certain that he was not teasing her.

Confusion bubbled within her and Mr. Stringer seemed to mirror the emotion as if he had not known quite what he said until he had said it.

He raised an arm to gesture in front of them, but avoided looking her in the eyes as he said, “Well, here we are.”

Charlotte looked over her shoulder and realised they were not far from Lady Susan’s home. Whenever he escorted her back from their walks, he always saw her to the front door. Tonight, however, he did not seem inclined to take any further step.

“Yes. Thank you for escorting me, Mr. Stringer,” she replied, her mouth feeling woolly all of a sudden.

“Of course, Miss Heywood,” he responded roughly.

He did not speak again that evening, but Charlotte felt him watching her until she was safely inside. When she reached her bedroom and leant her forehead against the door she realised her heart was pounding, but for an altogether different reason than it had been when she had left that evening.

* * *

As promised, she wrote to Lady Susan as soon as she arrived home. Charlotte then found herself lingering at the writing table to pen a second letter to Mr. Stringer. It was horribly short considering how long it took her to write; that time spent first debating whether she should write at all, for they had never made such an arrangement, and then what she should say. It was very confusing as Charlotte had never found herself struggling to formulate words in dialogue with Mr. Stringer before and she did not want one idle comment to change that easy conversation now.

Was it fair, though, to term it an idle comment when he had seemed so affected by it himself? If it had been anyone else she would have mentioned it to Lady Susan, but she knew her friend would only say that she had been right in recognising Mr. Stringer’s admiration of her, and that would have meant an insufferable final day in London.

Add to this, Charlotte was still not convinced that his statement was entirely borne of personal admiration. Although it had not been uppermost in her mind at the time, she could recall he had spoken to her most warmly when she had left Sanditon disappointed, and his words could perhaps be construed as that of a friend touched with concern for their friend’s happiness. Why, she would speak as warmly to Lady Susan if she thought any man had disappointed her – even if the likelihood was very much of it being the other way around in that case.

Of course, friendship did not explain his apparent embarrassment at his words. But that embarrassment, even if she could not place it, was part of the reason she decided to write as she did not want him to think their friendship had been altered.

Her letter, when finally completed, related mainly to her journey and seeing her family, with some comments continuing a discussion they had on their last walk regarding places they would like to visit. He answered it sooner than she had expected, and she read with pleasure his response, which included his thoughts on a book she had lately recommended him. She told him of the latest wedding news, and he replied with stories from another dinner party Mr. Russell had taken him to, for it seemed his mentor was now eager for him to meet with investors and other businessmen.

So their correspondence continued for the next month and a half, for she had promised her family to remain some time; her mama not wanting to be without two daughters in Willingdon while Alison went on her bridal tour, and her sister desiring her advice once she had returned and was settling into her new home. And while Charlotte enjoyed seeing her family again, the stories particularly in Mr. Stringer’s letters – for Lady Susan was not half so regular a correspondent – increased her desire to return to London with a haste she had not expected.

On the afternoon of Charlotte’s return to London, Lady Susan greeted her with news of a ball. Although tired from her journey, attending a ball would be the most exciting way Charlotte had spent an evening since the wedding of her sister more than a month prior. And she would like the opportunity to dance. 

Lady Susan, as usual, was spirited away by friends as soon as they arrived at the ball, but Charlotte had learnt how to avoid being swept up alongside her by now. It was more than an hour later when they saw one another again, by which time Charlotte had danced with Mr. Harding and Mr. Farnsworth twice each and had taken to availing herself of the refreshment table.

“You seem rather fixed on the door, Charlotte,” Lady Susan observed. “Looking for someone, my dear?”

“No,” Charlotte replied immediately.

“Plotting a daring escape, then,” Lady Susan conjectured, drawing a smile from her friend.

“Of course not, Lady Susan. I just like to observe the crowd.”

“I understand perfectly. But I wonder if you might save yourself some time by asking Mr. and Mrs. Russell whether Mr. Stringer will be attending tonight.”

“What,” Charlotte squeaked, her cheeks flushing. Naturally, she had never seen Mr. Stringer at a ball in London, but with tonight’s host being such a particular friend of Mr. Russell and the number of engagements the man had taken Mr. Stringer to since her absence from London, Charlotte had thought it likely he would be in attendance.

But she had never said anything of the kind to Lady Susan.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she managed. Perhaps she had mentioned in passing earlier that evening that she had been corresponding with Mr. Stringer during her time away, but that was innocent enough. And why should she not wish to see her friend after a prolonged absence; she had been happy to see Lady Susan just the same – or she had until now when the lady was smirking at her so.

“Now, now, my dear, lying is very unbecoming on such a delicate complexion as yours.”

Charlotte did not argue as Lady Susan sauntered off still wearing a smirk, choosing instead to refill her drink and make conversation with Mr. Harding when he came by.

And when she did speak to Mr. Russell – at a perfectly natural moment as he was passing and not at all in relation to Lady Susan’s comment – she discovered that Mr. Stringer had in fact been invited but declined his invitation. Mr. Russell did cite his apprentice’s excellent work ethic though he suggested that as his friend Miss Heywood might encourage Mr. Stringer to reconsider the next time he received such an invitation.

Charlotte was only happy to agree with Mr. Russell’s suggestion. She did not mention the ball when she wrote to Mr. Stringer the following morning to ask when he might next be at leisure to resume their walks, but it was much in her mind when they set off from Lady Susan’s together a few days later.

He first inquired after her time away and though she had related details of the wedding and the day to day of her life in Willingdon, it was much easier to speak of her feelings of being home in person. She mentioned her unexpected happiness at being in London again, relating the many things she had done in her short time back.

They had come to frequent the park Mr. Stringer had taken her to on their second walk, and they were just entering the gates by the time Charlotte remarked, “I was sorry not to see you at the ball the other night.”

“You were?”

“Yes,” Charlotte confirmed, though she felt somewhat embarrassed by his interested look. “I remember you are an excellent dancer and there were not nearly enough of those in attendance.”

“I see. Well, I hope you were able to dance even if not often enough to your liking.”

“I was, thank you. Mr. Russell said that you declined your invitation because you would rather work. I confess I was surprised to hear that.”

He cleared his throat. “I would have liked to attend, I only felt…conflicted.”

“Why is that?”

They had taken a few more steps before he responded, “I have not been to a dance since the one we both attended in Sanditon. And you know how that ended.”

“Oh,” Charlotte realised. Thinking back to the night of that dance and old Mr. Stringer’s fate she suddenly felt terrible for having brought up such a subject, however unwittingly. “Oh, yes, of course. I am sorry, I did not think that the ball would bring back such memories.”

“It was not the ball itself,” Mr. Stringer said, halting his footsteps, “only… You may recall my father did not approve of my ambitions. I did try to stay in Sanditon, but in the end, I found I could not. Most days it has been easy to forget he would not have liked my being here, but as more recently Mr. Russell has been taking me to dinner parties… I understand why – for they talk much business at these events, but they are by their nature largely social and I could not be easy attending them all.”

Charlotte nodded to this explanation, noting to herself that this was not a subject Mr. Stringer had spoken of in all their conversations. When he had told her that he had decided eventually to come to London she had accepted this easily and not realised what he must have wrestled with in making his choice. “I cannot claim to have known your father very well,” Charlotte began slowly, “but I believe he only wanted what he thought was best for you. Even if his ideas disagreed with yours, I think he would be proud to see how far you have come.”

Mr. Stringer sighed heavily. “I wish I could believe it. But thank you for saying that, Miss Heywood,” he added, meeting her eyes.

“Of course.” Charlotte found she had been gently squeezing his forearm without realising. She considered that she should drop her hand, but instead changed her position so that her hands were looped around his arm. The move drew them closer, but without acknowledging it she resumed their walk. “I recollect your father was a stonemason.”

“He was.”

“And did he take you to work with him when you were a boy?”

“Aye, he did,” Mr. Stringer confirmed. As he told Charlotte of some of these stories from his childhood, she noted with a smile that some of the heaviness that had been burdening his expression seemed to fade. His recollections led to questions on her own, which Charlotte answered happily, the memories still fond since her return to Willingdon had been recent and not continued long enough for her to have grown bored.

As pleasant as their walk was, she noted within herself a previously undetected feeling of disappointment once Lady Susan’s house came into sight. She dropped his arm before making her goodbyes and started up the steps to the entrance. She turned before knocking on the door, for Mr. Stringer was still waiting at the bottom and could not help but remind him lightly, “I hope one day you will attend a dance again, Mr. Stringer, for it is not good to confine yourself indoors and only work. You must take some time to enjoy yourself as well.”

He nodded, smiling softly up at her. “I think I already do, Miss.”

“Good,” she said. “I am glad.”

It was only once Charlotte was inside and removing her pelisse that she fully appreciated his meaning.

* * *

Thus far they had been graced with pleasant sunshine on their walks, but as the season changed so too did the weather. Charlotte did not notice the cooler winds, but when the rain arrived it could not be ignored. When the regular downpours threatened to cancel her walk with Mr. Stringer for the third successive week, Charlotte wrote to him asking if he would call on her instead that afternoon.

His lodging-house was not so very far from Lady Susan’s street that he would not be able to make the journey if he set off during one of the dryer interludes. Furthermore, there was no chance of Lady Susan entertaining anyone that day for her appointment with her modiste would keep her out of the house all afternoon. It seemed to Charlotte like an excellent solution, for it was too unfair that she should not be able to see her friend at all for weeks just because of the rain.

Her certainty faltered when he arrived, for though Mr. Stringer greeted her just as well as he usually did, he seemed to hesitate in the surroundings of Lady Susan’s front parlour. Charlotte had always thought her friend’s tastes refined, but the décor was lavish, and Mr. Stringer seemed reluctant to sit in the chair she gestured him towards for fear his somewhat dampened coat would ruin it.

Charlotte assuaged his concern, for he was not really that rumpled by the rain; the only difference she noticed was the damp air seemed to highlight the natural curl of his hair most flatteringly – though of course, she did not share this thought with him.

It was rather odd to be sat opposite each other sipping tea between conversation in such a large silent room when she had grown so used to the sounds of nature and busy London streets that filled their walks, but this did not seem to still the conversation between them.

That is, it did not until she mentioned the dinner party she had attended the other night, one hosted by her brother-in-law’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Stanton were very friendly, and Charlotte had grown fond of their daughter Miss Dinah Stanton during the wedding preparations, so she was more than happy to attend. She very much hoped Miss Stanton would one day become a close friend, and the two young ladies had already made arrangements to have tea tomorrow. Mr. Stringer listened to this part of the story very well, but his expression turned serious when she told him of her conversation with a Mr. and Mrs. Desford. Dinah had whispered to Charlotte early in the evening that they were very wealthy friends of her parents, her awe doubly impressive since to Charlotte’s mind the Stantons were incredibly wealthy themselves. However, they were very pleasant conversation partners and not the least bit snobbish, so when they said that they had plans to build a new house but did not know any architects themselves Charlotte had not thought twice about mentioning her dear friend the architect and offering to make enquiries on their behalf.

“Mr. Stringer?” Charlotte prompted when he said nothing. “You look displeased.”

He cleared his throat and put his teacup back on the table. “It was a very kind thought, Miss Heywood,” he said slowly. “But I suggest you put your new friends in touch with Mr. Russell.”

“But why should Mr. Russell have their business when you could easily do it? Mr. and Mrs. Desford would be an excellent connection.”

“You said they want an architect.”

“Which you are.”

“I am still only an apprentice.” Before Charlotte could argue against this point that she considered a minor detail, “And under the terms of my apprenticeship I must only take on work I am assigned by Mr. Russell.”

She frowned but quickly recovered. “I am sure if you explain he will not mind.”

“Or he might think I am trying to start my own business and possibly take his clients while I am at it, and dismiss me.”

“But then he does not need to know. They only want some sketches for now, you could easily do them when you are not at the site.”

He laughed then, but it was nothing like his usual warm tone. “Could I,” he muttered. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Miss Heywood, if I am not on the building site, then I am meeting with suppliers or investors, or drafting a sketch for one of Mr. Russell’s other projects or performing any one of a hundred tasks Mr. Russell may need doing. Even if I was willing to risk my position to meet with your friends, I hardly know when I would find the time to do so.”

“Well, how should I know you are so busy when you always have time to see me!”

Mr. Stringer’s expression shuttered. “Yes, well.” He stood abruptly. “Perhaps I should be leaving then.”

Charlotte blinked, unsure what to say. A quick glance at the window showed it had started raining again, so she made a weak entreaty that he remain until it passed, but he did not heed her.

“It is not a great distance. Good day, Miss Heywood,” he said with a bow. He did not wait for her response before departing.

It took very little time for Charlotte to regret her words. She had spoken hotly out of a growing irritation but, on reflection, she saw that irritation was directed more at her own ignorance than anything Mr. Stringer himself had said. She had believed herself to be doing him a great service in opening up such a well-desired connection, and that he would smile and thank her for it with great feeling. Instead, she had upset her friend by naively assuming she must know what would be best for him.

Even worse, she had made it seem as if she did not care that he took the time to see her so regularly. She certainly hadn’t realised that he had so little leisure time, but she was very happy he would choose to see her when he did.

Not that he would wish to do so anymore after she had spoken about it so tersely.

It was with this gloomy realisation that she took tea with Miss Dinah Stanton the following day and Charlotte was sure that she came across so dour Dinah would not wish to meet with her again. The thought that this would then mean she had lost two of her friends in London so quickly led Charlotte to spend the next few days indoors, trying and failing to read a new book and ignoring Lady Susan’s efforts to prise the source of Charlotte’s low spirits out of her friend. Her only comfort was the rain which poured incessantly, perfectly in keeping with her mood.

Charlotte was surprised when five days after their ill-fated tea she received a note at breakfast from Mr. Stringer. It was uncharacteristically short, only inquiring if he would be allowed to call on her the following day. She was bothered by the insistence that his visit would be brief, but allowed herself some hope that if he merely wanted to put an end to their friendship he could have easily done so in the letter itself.

“You seem happier this morning, Charlotte,” Lady Susan observed from across the table.

“Yes,” Charlotte began, “I think I am feeling better than I have been the last few days. – But I should like to rest a few days more, so if you do not mind, I will not join you at Mrs. Russell’s for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

“If you are certain, my dear.”

“I am. And if you will excuse me, I must write. To Miss Stanton,” she added hastily. It was true, she did wish to make a further attempt to continue her friendship with Miss Stanton. But it was not the first letter she planned to write that morning.

Lady Susan’s gaze darted from Charlotte’s face to the letter and envelope clutched in Charlotte’s hand, but she only said, “Of course.”

Lady Susan was worryingly late in leaving the following afternoon, and Charlotte’s anxiety was not quelled by the fact that the normally prompt Mr. Stringer did not arrive at her suggested time. She spent the time since Lady Susan’s departure staring out the parlour window into the side street, though she did not know why for that was not even the street he would come by.

She was so relieved to see him when he did enter the parlour ten minutes later than scheduled that she could not even voice a usual pleasantry, blurting out, “I thought you might have changed your mind.”

He glanced at the floor before looking up at her. “I thought you might have done the same and no longer wished me to come. But you must let me apologise even if you don’t want me to stay. I had no right to speak to you as I did.”

“No, it is I who should apologise!” Charlotte exclaimed. “There is still much I don’t understand.”

“You had no need to understand it. I know you only meant well and I did not show my gratitude.”

“And why should you have to show gratitude for my foolishness?”

He let out a sharp breath and stared at her. “Are we arguing in our apologies?”

Charlotte stopped suddenly and burst into laughter. “Yes, I believe we are.”

The sound of his laughter joined hers and it was with an easier breath that they shared a smile.

“I really am very grateful that you would think of me, Charlotte. For the opportunity,” he added quickly. “Even if I cannot accept.”

Charlotte nodded, surprised to find her cheeks suddenly felt warm. A hazy memory told her it was not the first time he had used her Christian name, but it was the first time she had noticed how warmly he said it. “And I am very grateful that you wish to spend time with me when you have so little of it.”

“I could say the same to you,” he said easily, but it made Charlotte thoughtful.

She supposed she was always telling him a laundry list of things she had done since they had last met, but her schedule was filled with social engagements, and she ranked her walks with Mr. Stringer among those she most enjoyed. It did not seem an equitable statement with his work.

A glance out the window confirmed that the day had remained dry so she cleared her throat to propose a walk. He eagerly accepted and soon they were walking out Lady Susan’s front door together.

“Mr. Stringer,” she began.

“Yes, Miss?”

“I was wondering…” Charlotte hesitated, aware it was a very direct question she was about to ask. But their talk inside had alerted her to her lack of knowledge, and it felt silly that she should not know such a thing about a friend. “I realised everyone in Sanditon called you Young Stringer.”

“I suppose they did, my father having been known so well.”

“I don’t believe I know your name.”

His features coloured in surprise before he answered softly, “It’s James, Miss.”

She nodded, her cheeks inexplicably heating once more. “That’s a nice name.”

“Thank you,” he replied, wearing a hint of amusement as his eyes did not leave her face.

“One of my brothers was almost named James,” Charlotte said, partially to counteract her unwelcome embarrassment, “but Jane was just before him and my father thought they were too similar.”

“What did they name him instead?”

She gave him a sly smile before she said, “Charles.”

He laughed, eyes creased in amusement when he asked, “And they did not think that too similar to _your_ name?”

“I believe they forgot.”

“Surely not!”

“There are too many of us for them to remember all the time, and there are eight siblings in between him and myself. Of course, we all call him Charlie – he is far too naughty to be a Charles,” she said making Mr. Stringer laugh again.

Their eyes caught as they smiled and Charlotte found herself looking away suddenly, to the pavement.

“You must miss them.”

“Yes, sometimes,” Charlotte admitted. 

“But not always?” he prompted.

“It is nice to occasionally be able to hear oneself think.”

A rather noisy carriage raced past them to punctuate her statement.

“Only very occasionally in London, Miss.”

Charlotte laughed in agreement. “Yes, indeed.”

* * *

Afternoon tea between Lady Susan and Mrs. Russell had always been a regular engagement between the two ladies, with Charlotte only an occasional participant since she had first come to London. However, after she made introductions between the Desfords and Mr. Russell, Mrs. Russell greatly increased her attentions towards Charlotte; she was even friendlier than usual while the Desfords took their time in meeting with a number of architects, but after Mr. Desford and Mr. Russell had signed a contract for the preliminary design Mrs. Russell suddenly could not do without seeing dear Charlotte at least once a week.

She would not have minded this notice if she was not acutely aware that she was benefiting from a connection she had hoped would benefit Mr. Stringer, who unfortunately had no involvement in the project as it was being handled by one of Mr. Russell’s most senior staff. Additionally, she was somewhat chagrined to find that by and large Mrs. Russell’s means of taking a further interest in Charlotte was to particularly scrutinise her marriage prospects.

Lady Susan was sadly little help on this front, for she found it greatly amusing to watch Charlotte try in vain to explain to her friend that she was not partial to yet another bachelor Mrs. Russell considered most suitable.

The three ladies were taking tea in Mrs. Russell’s parlour when the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming ball hosted by Mr. and Mrs. Desford. Charlotte had heard from Miss Stanton that such a plan was in the making, but invitations had only been received the previous day so the excitement was still fresh.

"Mr. Harding has also been invited to the ball,” Mrs. Russell said with a sly smile in Charlotte's direction that she was sure was meant to be teasing. “I understand you rode out with him in his barouche last Saturday.”

“Yes, I did.”

Mrs. Russell seemed most perturbed by Charlotte's less than enthusiastic response. "I have never had the pleasure myself, but those who have say he is an excellent driver.”

“He certainly is." That Charlotte could not fault him on; she had been concerned after her experience with Mr. Farnsworth but had no reason to fear in the end.

"But you did not find him excellent company?" Lady Susan conjectured.

Mrs. Russell gasped seeing the look of agreement on Charlotte's face. "But he is so amiable,” Mrs. Russell insisted. “And one of the most stylish men in all of London.”

Charlotte laughed but sobered when she realized Mrs. Russell was quite serious. Charlotte did not see what style had to do with the quality of one's company, but she recognised it would not do to mention that. "He was indeed very amiable and stylish. And I would be happy to dance with him at the ball. Only I fear I should perhaps grow a little bored if we danced more than one."

“Miss Heywood, surely you cannot mean that,” Mrs. Russell said, all astonishment. “Why, anyone would be flattered had they the honour of dancing with Mr. Harding more than once. I know I would count myself fortunate to be given the opportunity to discuss the latest styles with him.”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Susan agreed, though Charlotte was sure Mrs. Russell did not note the teasing glint in her eye. “I believe Mr. Harding knows more than almost anyone about that subject.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said hesitantly. Mr. Harding’s faults, in Charlotte’s opinion, were not so much that his enthusiasm for fashion greatly outweighed her own, but that when she tried to steer the conversation to topics other than fashion or his barouche, he suddenly had very little to say. “We discussed the latest styles in great detail.”

"Why, exactly. He is so knowledgeable,” said Mrs. Russell, clearly not comprehending this had been intended as a critique. "He has given me advice a great many times and I am always very glad to converse with him.”

Recognising Mrs. Russell would not let this topic go easily, Charlotte tried to explain herself. “To be sure, I am glad to be engaged in conversation with any man on a subject he is passionate about. But is it not more pleasant if he is able to discuss subjects other than only the one he is most knowledgeable in? Why, when I am walking with Mr. Stringer, though we do naturally discuss architecture and his work, we also discuss books and music and travel – not that either of us is well travelled at all, but we would like to be…”

Charlotte had glanced up when making her aside, but her companion’s expressions gave her pause. Mrs. Russell seemed perplexed while Lady Susan appeared delighted in a way Charlotte had come to learn was dangerous. 

Mrs. Russell blinked. "I did not realise you and Mr. Stringer were quite so intimately acquainted, Miss Heywood.”

She felt herself flushing. "Mr. Stringer has long been a friend of mine. Since my time in Sanditon,” she said, though that did not feel entirely true. Friendly as they had been then, she felt very differently about their acquaintance now. Charlotte cleared her throat, looking to her lap awkwardly. “He is very easy to talk with.”

“I see. I suppose he seems a good sort of man,” Mrs. Russell said, a contemplative look on her face. “Mr. Russell has certainly grown quite fond of him. And very good manners, despite his…background.”

Charlotte’s cheeks grew hotter, but this time it was not from embarrassment. As if that should signify anything to his character, she thought angrily, biting down on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from saying so aloud.

Apparently sensing her friend’s increasing rage, Lady Susan spoke lightly, “In my experience, the more nobly bred a man is, the worse his manners are.”

“Lady Susan!” Mrs. Russell exclaimed, putting a hand to her chest. “You are too cruel.”

“No, indeed. All rakes are gentlemen, are they not? And the nobles are the most notorious of the lot. I should know, my dear, I did marry a Lord.”

“Oh really, Lady Susan, how you tease,” Mrs. Russell cried, unable to help laughter.

The tension now broken, conversation returned to those who would be in attendance at the ball and Charlotte found her annoyance faded with time, though it did not disappear entirely.

Before the end of their visit, they were joined by Mr. Russell arriving home.

“Good afternoon ladies!” he boomed on entering the room. He greeted his wife first before making his way to Charlotte. “And the delightful Miss Heywood who we must be forever indebted to.”

“No, indeed, sir,” Charlotte said. “I am sure the arrangement is entirely on your own merit.”

This back and forth continued briefly, as it had done in all their meetings since the introduction had been made, but Charlotte managed to keep up her polite smile for the duration.

“Well, Miss Heywood, despite what you have already done, I must endeavour to obtain a further favour from you.”

“A favour, sir?” Charlotte asked curiously.

“Mr. Desford has been so generous as to give me some additional invitations to the ball. I intend to pass one of them to our friend Mr. Stringer. Can I count on you, Miss Heywood, to help me convince him to accept the invitation?”

Much pleased with this news, Charlotte initially found she could only smile and nod.

Mr. Russell seemed to desire a more vocal response, but Lady Susan was willing to speak on her friend’s behalf. “I am certain Charlotte will be only too happy to do so.”

It was an apt summation and she was easily able to fulfil this request just ten days later on her next walk with Mr. Stringer. She did not have to labour the point as he agreed almost as soon as she asked him, seemingly as if he had already made up his mind.

“Are you looking forward to the ball, Miss Heywood?”

“Yes, very much,” Charlotte said, trying not to think very hard about the fact that her excitement had increased when Mr. Stringer had replied positively. “Miss Stanton insisted she must have a new dress for it and has convinced me to do the same.” Charlotte had been very pleased when Dinah accepted a second invitation to tea after her grim mood the first time, and since then the two young ladies had become fast friends.

“I should be glad to meet her.”

“You should?” she asked. Her eyes flicked upwards to study his face, which remained on the street ahead.

“Yes,” Mr. Stringer replied lightly. “You seem to think very highly of her.”

“Oh, yes, I do. She is… very nice,” Charlotte finished somewhat lamely, aware that suddenly she did not wish to sing Dinah’s praises as she had done their last few meetings. Dinah was indeed a lovely girl, but she felt very sure that she did not want Mr. Stringer to know just how lovely.

A rather ugly feeling settled in the pit of Charlotte’s stomach and try as she might to pretend otherwise, she did recognise what it was.

It was ridiculous to feel jealous, she thought to herself. Mr. Stringer and Miss Stanton were two of her favourite people in London, so surely she must think a match between them to be a wonderful thing. It would be disappointing that she would not be able to walk out with Mr. Stringer as she did now if he were married, but at least if Dinah were his wife she could see both her friends together.

Strangely the thought did not comfort her, but she soon realised it was no matter. Dinah, despite all her generous spirit, was too ruled by her parents to ever consider a man who had no fortune for a husband, even if she had fortune enough herself, never mind a man below her station. There could never be a match between them.

It must be concern for her friend that was making her feel awkward. She did not want Mr. Stringer to endure the heartbreak of forming an attachment that would never be returned. Not that he could have formed one yet, but she would watch them carefully at the ball.

Clearing her throat, Charlotte said, “Do you know Miss Stanton leant me a most excellent book last week that I must tell you about.” And this she did, their conversation then turning away from the ball – and any young ladies who might be in attendance – to other matters.

Their walks had been more intermittent as of late, owing to a combination of the inclement weather and some additional tasks Mr. Stringer had been assigned as he neared the end of his apprenticeship. Charlotte had been very glad to find nothing more than a light drizzle in the morning, and it was quite dry when they set off that afternoon, even though the skies remained a dull grey. She had thought there no reason to fear a downpour, but, perhaps due to the unintentionally extended length of their walk, they did not manage to escape a rapid storm.

A sharp crack heralded a sudden onslaught just as Mr. Stringer had nearly seen Charlotte home. Had the skies opened when they had been walking by the number of shops they passed on the way to their usual park, they could have easily taken shelter, but as fate would have it they were caught on a street full of houses.

“Over here!” Charlotte cried, running underneath a helpfully long awning atop a side window.

Mr. Stringer joined her just in time as the pelts of rain began angrily hitting the ground, both laughing at the sudden change.

“And Lady Susan did tell me she thought it might turn, but I said it should not,” Charlotte said, amused as she observed the force at which the rain was coming down, moving closer to the wall. “Mr. Stringer, your jacket,” Charlotte added. He was not fully underneath the covering and so was getting some of the rain.

Without thinking, she tugged on his arm so that he would be more securely under the shelter, but this had the effect of bringing him much closer to her. It was not an uncomfortable feeling, for having him in such proximity helped block out the chilly air. But as much as they had stood close to each other on their walks, she was conscious of him in a way she had never been before. She was more aware than ever that she had to raise her head to meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice sounded deeper than usual. It must be the loud sound of the rain altering it, thought Charlotte.

Glancing past his shoulder she noticed a familiar set of steps on the next street and laughed lightly. “We are so close to Lady Susan’s as well.”

He looked over his shoulder and realised the same. “You might not fare too badly if you wish to make a run for it, Miss Heywood. Though I should be mindful of slipping.”

“Yes, I…” Charlotte began, surveying their surroundings. The rain was coming down very fast, but it was so close she should not get too badly caught; and even if she did, she could immediately change and have a warm bath. That sounded appealing now the air had turned cold and her shoes were getting damp. But she was rather safe at that moment, securely underneath the covering and with Mr. Stringer standing in such a way that any splashes from the passing carriages were not falling on her. “I think I should rather not risk it,” she said. “It came down so suddenly, it seems likely it won’t last.”

“I think you are right,” he confirmed after another look over his shoulder.

It seemed to Charlotte that Mr. Stringer then found himself in the same predicament as her of not exactly knowing where to look. Their eyes kept meeting very briefly before one or the other would look away, as if their increased proximity had made the accidental glances less innocent than they were usually when out walking.

“You are not too cold, Miss Heywood?” he said, seemingly to have something to say.

Charlotte looked up at him as she shook her head. In doing so a few water droplets that had caught on the brim of her bonnet fell onto her cheekbone and trickled down her face, making her laugh.

“Here,” Mr. Stringer said, reaching into the inside of his jacket and pulling out a handkerchief. He raised it to her face but paused inches away. “May I?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said so softly she thought he might not have heard her first. But then he did touch the handkerchief to her face, gently patting the dry fabric against her cheek. His eyes were trained on his task, but Charlotte found she could not keep hers off his.

It appeared that a stray water droplet had gotten stuck to his eyelashes and she had an overwhelming urge to touch her fingertip to it. She had gone as far as raising a hand to do so before she realised what she was doing and instead tucked the hair behind her ears down more firmly.

When she let that hand drop once more, she accidentally brushed Mr. Stringer’s fingers. Even through their gloves, the heat of the graze startled her such that Charlotte’s mouth dropped into a small ‘o’ which she was sure did not escape his notice even though she quickly retreated her hand.

His eyes settled on hers once more and the hand that had been by her cheek returned the handkerchief to his pocket. He cleared his throat before finally saying, “I, uh – I think the rain is fading, Miss Heywood.”

“Oh?” She had not heard the difference in sound due to the overwhelming ringing in her ears, but a quick glance to the side confirmed this was indeed the truth. “So, it is.”

But he did not move away even though it was now safe to do so. She thought she detected an air of reluctance when he said, “I suppose I will see you next at the ball.”

“So you will.” Charlotte watched him study her, unsure what he saw in her gaze, for she had no certainty herself as to what she was feeling at that current moment. When his mouth opened as if to say something further, she suddenly spoke up in a pleasant voice very unlike her natural manner, “Good day then, Mr. Stringer.”

And then, clutching her reticule very tightly to her person, she walked sharply to the next street and into Lady Susan’s house, past the butler who cried for Miss Heywood to remove her outer garments downstairs so she did not drip, and directly into her bedroom. There she fell flat onto her bed, damp clothes and all, and buried her reddened face into her pillow.

* * *

By the night of the ball, Charlotte was very excited and, for reasons she could not quite admit to herself yet, strangely hopeful.

She found Miss Stanton soon after her arrival and was very pleased to be talking to her new friend as they admired the lavish displays together. It was while she and Dinah surveyed the ballroom that she happened upon Mr. Stringer with Mr. Russell and another of their colleagues. Once the necessary introductions had been made, the conversation naturally turned to admiration of the finery on display at the ball.

“And I am sure you young ladies are looking forward to the dancing, are you not?” Mr. Russell asked in his usual loud tone.

Both Dinah and Charlotte smiled and agreed with this statement.

“I remember you were a capital dancer at the last ball, Miss Heywood.”

Charlotte thanked him for the compliment, smiling as she caught Mr. Stringer’s eye.

“Ah, there they are!” exclaimed the fifth of the party, Mr. Grave, looking behind the ladies.

It seemed there was a pair of gentlemen nearby that Mr. Grave expressly sought to introduce Mr. Russell to, and as Mr. Stringer was obliged to follow them, the two young ladies were shortly by themselves once more.

“That is a shame,” Dinah said. “I thought Mr. Stringer seemed as if he was about to ask you to dance, Charlotte.”

“Really? I was not sure myself,” Charlotte noted lightly, though she had indeed wondered the same.

“To be sure, he was.”

“Well,” Charlotte said, privately pleased at this observation, “the dancing will not start for a while yet, so there is plenty of time for both of us to dance.”

Dinah agreed. “And since Mr. Stringer is your particular friend he will no doubt come to find you later.”

“I am not sure I should call him my _particular_ friend,” Charlotte said carefully.

“Are you not? But from how often you mention him I only thought…” Dinah seemed to think better of her statement and instead said brightly, “Well, you look so pretty in your new dress tonight I am sure you will be asked by so many men, that you may not even have time to dance with Mr. Stringer.”

Charlotte frowned at this possibility. If Mr. Stringer was indeed to be having business discussions for some of the evening, perhaps she would be already engaged when he intended to dance. “I do not wish for that, Dinah.”

“So, you _do_ wish to dance with him?”

“Dinah,” Charlotte said steadily, recognising her friend was leading her down a path of self-reflection she was not yet willing to take, “will you accompany me to the refreshment table?”

Dinah, having been raised by an extremely direct mother, did not have a keen grasp of subtlety. However, she could not mistake this abrupt about-face. She readily agreed and talked only of refreshments the whole walk there.

In one part of her prediction Dinah was indeed correct, though it was the part that Charlotte had cared for the least; looking fetching as she did in her green dress she received many requests to dance, including a number from men she had only been introduced to that evening. She was not sure whether she was glad or disheartened to catch glimpses of Mr. Stringer on the fringes of the room in various conversations, for though at least it suggested he had not been neglecting her, it did not look promising for his being able to dance. She was glad Mr. Russell was showing his high regard for his apprentice by introducing Mr. Stringer to so many well-desired connections, but she hoped he would give him even a brief interlude before the night was over.

An hour went by before Charlotte had a reprieve from the dancefloor, begging Mr. Harding’s apologies after only one dance. She desired some refreshment and, despite his entreaties, would not have him bring it to her when her dear friend Miss Stanton seemed as if she might go without a partner for the next dance. Mr. Harding did consider that his duty should be to Miss Heywood as he had already secured her as a partner. However, as Miss Stanton, with whom he had hitherto been unacquainted, was the most smartly dressed young lady at the ball, he could not bring himself to relinquish the opportunity to dance with her and agreed to change partners.

Charlotte watched them dance together as she sipped her drink, reflecting that they made a very elegant couple. Happy that Dinah did not look bored, her gaze strayed around the ballroom and caught sight of Lady Susan. She had not spoken to her since the dancing started, and she was only a short distance away. Charlotte thought her friend was about to join her when she smiled, but then Lady Susan turned her head and returned to her conversation with Mrs. Russell.

“Miss Heywood?”

It was by pure chance that she did not choke on her drink from surprise at hearing Mr. Stringer’s voice from behind her shoulder.

She coughed as delicately as she could to clear her throat before turning to face him. Although she was pleased to see he was alone, it also made her feel oddly nervous.

“Mr. Stringer.”

They stared at each other for a moment, both smiling uncertainly.

“Have you been enjoying the ball, Miss?” he asked.

Charlotte nodded. “Yes, very much so. I just needed to rest from having danced so much,” she said, still somewhat breathless. Realising that this might sound like she did not want to dance again, she rushed to add, “But only for a little while. I hope you have been enjoying it as well, and not spent your whole evening talking about building works.”

He gave a wry laugh, and she noticed how his eyes crinkled with his bright grin. “It seems there are a great many important investors and architects I must meet.”

“But at least it must be a good sign that Mr. Russell wishes you to see so many of them, and for them to see you,” Charlotte said encouragingly.

He nodded. “Aye, I think so. But,” he hesitated a moment, glancing away to the dancers before saying, “in truth, I only attended to see one person in particular.”

“Oh?” To Charlotte’s mortification, she could not prevent the way her face fell at this statement. Even though she ducked her face immediately the ballroom was so well lit he would doubtless have seen. “And have you been introduced yet?” she asked, vehemently hoping it was in relation to his profession and nothing to do with the interest he had expressed in meeting Dinah.

To her surprise he laughed, the sound somehow amused and exasperated at once. “ _Charlotte_ …”

Her head jerked up to find him smiling down at her, his eyes exquisitely fond.

Had he looked at her like that before? Charlotte wondered, her breath caught in her chest. She must have been very remiss in not noticing if he had.

Before either could speak her name was called again, though this time the call for Miss Heywood was most unwelcome.

“Mr. Farnsworth,” Charlotte greeted their new companion, forcing herself to smile politely as he came to a stop beside her, seeming to only notice Mr. Stringer at the last moment. She had not danced with him yet that evening and she was privately lamenting that he would choose that moment to seek her out. Unsure if the men knew each other, she introduced them.

“You’re Russell’s boy, aren’t you?” Mr. Farnsworth said.

Charlotte noticed the infinitesimal tightening of Mr. Stringer’s expression, but he only nodded minutely at this statement.

“Mr. Stringer is currently overseeing a very important project,” Charlotte said, before giving the location of the building works. “Perhaps you have heard of it?”

“Yes,” Mr. Farnsworth acknowledged. “Near my bank. Frightful lot of disruption, I must say. And been going on for so long! But these things always take longer than you all say they will, eh Stringer?”

“I am sure they take time to do well!” Charlotte said hotly. “Why, imagine how long it must have taken to construct this fine ballroom we are in now.”

Sensing he was not endearing himself to Miss Heywood with his banter, Mr. Farnsworth tried to change tack. “Yes, it is a very fine building. All done in a very modern style, eh?” he said with a look between Charlotte and Mr. Stringer.

Charlotte glanced at Mr. Stringer to find that in contrast to the annoyance still coursing through her, he looked highly amused.

With a slight upturn to his lips, Mr. Stringer replied, “I believe it was when it was built.”

“Yes, yes,” Farnsworth went on, seemingly not registering this comment. Behind them, Charlotte heard a smattering of applause to signal the end of the song as he continued, “And I know much about the history of it, and am always happy to share my knowledge.”

From the corner of her eye, Charlotte saw couples changing for the next dance. Thinking quickly, she said, “That is a very kind offer, Mr. Farnsworth. I would entreat you to visit Mrs. Elton.”

“Mrs. Elton?” he repeated, his eyebrows rising.

“Yes, she is seated just over there and said to me earlier how much she admired the building. I am certain she would be very interested in hearing from you. But if you will excuse us, I think the next dance is about to start. We had better take our places, don’t you think, Mr. Stringer?”

If he was surprised by her gambit, Mr. Stringer showed no sign, only agreeing and holding a hand out to lead her onto the floor.

They did not speak until they had taken their places, just a few moments before the music started.

“Did Mrs. Elton really ask about the building?” he asked in a low tone as they began the dance.

“She did,” Charlotte said. Truthfully Mrs. Elton had been more interested in sharing the facts she already knew than in raising questions, but Charlotte had no doubt that she and Mr. Farnsworth would manage a lively conversation. “I do apologise, Mr. Stringer. Only I thought Mr. Farnsworth intended to ask me himself.

“I take it he moves his feet as badly as he does his phaeton?”

Charlotte laughed, her earlier tension dissipating. She said, “And I must apologise for what Mr. Farnsworth said as well.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said firmly.

“I don’t know how you can bear the impertinence so easily,” Charlotte wondered, for he seemed most unaffected by the interlude.

“I used to find it difficult,” he admitted. “But with time I have learnt to ignore them. Besides, I think Mr. Farnsworth would not have been so bad if he hadn’t been trying to impress you.”

Charlotte shook her head as she turned for the dance, scoffing in what she had been told was a most unladylike manner, but she knew Mr. Stringer would not judge her for it. She faced him again, and found he was smiling in amusement at her reaction. “I do not understand how he can think that sort of behaviour is impressive.”

“And what would impress you, Miss Heywood?”

“Why is it that men always think a woman must be _impressed_ by them?” Charlotte said. “As if that is what is most important to a woman when choosing who she might marry.”

Mr. Stringer nodded in acknowledgement of this. “What do you think is important?” he asked.

Charlotte considered this as they moved through the next steps, noticing how nice it was to dance with him. “There must be affection,” she said easily. “And friendship.”

“Friendship?”

“Yes,” she said, her certainty growing. “One never knows what the future might hold, but through friendship, you can know if you can esteem and respect someone – and trust them; that you might know if they are someone you could build a life with…”

Charlotte trailed off, feeling a sudden tightening in her chest. For though Mr. Farnsworth did not meet with her estimation for these qualities, she realised with startling clarity who did.

She looked up and realised Mr. Stringer seemed much affected by her speech.

“I agree, Miss Heywood. Most wholeheartedly.”

She nodded at this statement before turning as the dance required her to, taking a deep breath before her gloved hand returned to press against his. She could not look at him and focused her energies on studying their hands as they took the final steps of the dance, her fingers feeling at once shaky and secure sitting inside the breadth of his larger palm.

Once the last note of the song played Charlotte jerked her hand away to clap mechanically along with everyone else. Mr. Stringer followed suit, though neither moved from their place on the dance floor, even as the rest began to disperse.

“Miss Heywood.”

“Yes?” she asked, the single syllable uttered most unsteadily

“I – I’m afraid I am now obliged to return to Mr. Russell.”

“Oh, of course,” Charlotte said, nodding, trying not to show her disappointment.

This disappointment was eased somewhat when he asked to arrange their next walk with a very intense expression before he took his leave. She saw Mr. Stringer intermittently through the rest of the night, but the only other time they were able to share a dance was for one that required groups. It was a very enjoyable dance, but constantly changing partners did not allow for intimate conversation. Though her composure never fully recovered from her realisation during their first dance, she left the ball tired but happy, with a pleasant sense of expectation and it was a feeling that continued the rest of the week.

However, when Charlotte returned from the much-anticipated walk this feeling had faded most significantly. She walked into the parlour aimlessly as she removed her bonnet to find Lady Susan at her writing desk, who greeted Charlotte cheerily. She thought she had returned her greeting in the same manner as she picked up the book she had left there that morning, intending to take it to her room, but soon realised she had not.

“Is something the matter, Charlotte?” She was not satisfied when Charlotte replied in the negative. “You seem troubled. Did you not enjoy your walk with Mr. Stringer?”

“I did.” Charlotte hesitated. “Only, I…”

“Yes?” Lady Susan prompted with an interested look.

Charlotte sighed and fell to the chaise, the skirt of her dress billowing out around her. “Lady Susan, do you recall a conversation we had when I first resumed my acquaintance with Mr. Stringer? When you said you believed he might have admired me once?”

“I recall perfectly,” Lady Susan replied, her smile widening to such an extent that Charlotte wished she had not spoken. But she needed to unburden herself and Lady Susan gave good advice.

“I have reason to believe that you may have been correct in your estimation – or at least, if he did not then, that he might now.”

“I take it he has not spoken to you directly about his admiration for you?”

She considered some of the remarks he had made to her, and the way he looked at her was never far from her memory, but she could not term anything as a direct comment. Charlotte shook her head.

“Then I am very proud you have reached such a conclusion by yourself. I must be teaching you well.”

“Lady Susan,” Charlotte said reproachfully, “please do not tease me.”

“I am sorry, my dear,” she replied, her tone conciliatory. She got up from her chair and took a seat by Charlotte, placing her hand over her friend’s where it rested on the chaise. “What is it that distresses you? Lately I thought you might return Mr. Stringer’s admiration.”

She blushed faintly at this observation. “I do,” Charlotte admitted quietly, her other hand tightening her hold on the book in her lap nervously. “That is, I have always admired him as a good sort of man, but lately – I hardly know since when – I find he has become very dear to me. But today he has been very confusing!”

“I’m afraid his sex always are,” Lady Susan commented dryly. “What has confused you so?”

“At the ball, he asked about our next walk most particularly, and I thought that meant he had something he wished to say in private. And today he did ask me most interestedly whether I wished to return to Willingdon soon or whether I would be happy to remain in London for some time. And I thought that meant – well, I thought he might mean to make me an offer. But after I said I would be very happy to stay in London, he started speaking of something else!”

“I see.”

“Perhaps he only asked me as a friend might,” she remarked glumly.

Lady Susan nodded. “Or perhaps he is not in a position to make you an offer yet. I imagine his apprenticeship does not pay enough for him to support a wife,” she continued, when Charlotte looked at her.

“But he has nearly finished his apprenticeship. He said he will find out if Mr. Russell will keep him on to work for him this coming week. And Mr. Russell thinks so highly of Mr. Stringer, I am certain he will give him a good position.”

“I think it very likely too, my dear,” Lady Susan agreed, “but that does not assure it will come to pass. And no man of sense would propose before he knew he could afford to keep a wife.”

“I suppose,” Charlotte said, realising the truth of it. “But he could at least speak of his feelings even if he cannot make me an offer!”

Lady Susan mused on this. “Have you given him any encouragement?”

“I thought I had.”

“In what way?”

“Well, I…” Charlotte thought it was obvious that she welcomed his company, but perhaps her actions had not been so very different from the way she behaved with him when she only considered Mr. Stringer a friend. “At the ball, I made very clear that I much preferred to dance with him than Mr. Farnsworth,” she said finally, not wishing to share she had effectively asked him to dance herself.

“I think anyone would,” came Lady Susan’s arch response, “if only to spare her toes. Was that all?”

“I also said…”

“Yes?” Lady Susan prompted when Charlotte did not continue, a curious gleam in her eye.

“I did speak of marriage in such a way,” Charlotte began, her cheeks reddening, “that Mr. Stringer must have known I was thinking of him.” Never mind that she had only realised the depth of her own feelings in that same speech, she did not see how he could have mistaken it.

“But only indirectly?”

“Of course, indirectly.”

Lady Susan hesitated. “I only press you because of – and forgive me for saying this, my dear – Mr. Stringer’s background.” Charlotte whipped her head up at Lady Susan, her friend smiling as if she had expected this response. “He may feel it more keenly than you. You must know there are aspects of your life that would be very different if you were married to Mr. Stringer; things that would be more difficult.”

“I know,” Charlotte said. She had been giving this much thought recently. “I am not afraid of that.”

“And some of your friends may not look too kindly on the match.”

“They are not friends I would wish to keep.”

Lady Susan smiled. “In that case, I suggest you make certain Mr. Stringer is aware of your regard for him; for some men may feel it impudent to offer for a woman above his station unless he is very confident in her affection.”

Charlotte’s face paled. Even though she saw the sense in Lady Susan’s statement, she felt apprehensive about what that would require from her. “You think _I_ should tell him of my feelings first?” she asked.

“You don’t have to; there are many ways you can encourage him without doing so. But I don’t see why you should look so scared to do so.”

“But I am still not _certain_ he feels the same way and I…” Charlotte sighed. “I don’t want to confess my feelings only to end up disappointed again.”

Lady Susan smiled sadly, holding her hand tighter. “You were indeed very unlucky in love before, Charlotte. But I hardly think you can be so unlucky that you would be disappointed twice.”

“But as you said there is no assurance; what if Mr. Russell cannot take him on and Mr. Stringer is obliged to leave London for work? Or what if he stays but thinks he is too busy for a wife?” Noticing the dubious tilt of Lady Susan’s head at this remark, Charlotte continued, “He has told me himself how busy he is now with his apprenticeship.”

“Yet he clearly makes a regular exception to see his dearest Charlotte.”

Charlotte flushed at this statement, both pleased and embarrassed. “He has certainly never called me that.”

Lady Susan squeezed her friend’s hand one final time. “Be brave, Charlotte.”

Nervous as it made her, Charlotte decided to take this advice to heart. On the morning of their next walk, it was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that she tried to pass the time while she waited for the hour that Mr. Stringer would come by. Lady Susan having left shortly after breakfast, Charlotte had first been pleasantly occupied in writing a letter to Georgiana. Although she had been allowed to visit Charlotte in Willingdon on a few occasions, it had been some time now since the friends had met in person, and she had been very pleased to learn through a letter the previous day that Georgiana was finally able to visit her in London.

Once this task was complete, however, she felt very restless and had to read several pages in her book more than once to follow the plot. She felt her heart beating faster when the butler knocked on the door. The staff all recognised Mr. Stringer by now, so she was surprised that the butler looked hesitant on entering the parlour; her surprise only grew when he instead announced, “There is a Mr. Harding here to see you, ma’am.”

“Mr. Harding?” Charlotte repeated in confusion. Her ride in his barouche had been their sole private engagement and there had been no suggestion of another since.

“I did mention you had a previous engagement, ma’am, but – “ the butler began before he was loudly interrupted.

“Pray do not send me away, Miss Heywood! I must speak with you!”

The door was not open wide enough for her to see Mr. Harding, but she could hardly mistake his voice – though she had not known him capable of such emotive speech unrelated to his barouche or cravats. The stern set of the butler’s face showed what he thought of such a declaration.

A glance at the clock confirmed that it was not far from the time Mr. Stringer would call, but Charlotte’s curiosity was piqued. And she did not like for a guest of hers to be giving Lady Susan’s staff trouble, even if that guest had been uninvited. Believing Mr. Harding might be easily dispatched once he had delivered whatever errand had brought him here so unexpectedly, she instructed the butler to send him in.

She had barely removed her book from her lap to stand when Mr. Harding entered, his manner of walking much more frenzied than she remembered it.

“You must forgive me, Miss Heywood, for calling so unexpectedly, but I simply must solicit your advice.”

“My advice?”

“Yes. I am a ruined man!”

“Ruined?” Charlotte said, her confusion growing.

“And forever shall I be unless I can secure the heart of Miss Stanton!” he proclaimed before he threw himself on the chaise quite dramatically.

Dear God, Charlotte thought. She had not believed Mr. Harding could be so melodramatic. She knew Miss Stanton and he had danced more than once after her introduction, but she had not been aware of any spark between them. Dinah had certainly not mentioned it when she saw her two days after the ball.

Sitting down next to him, Charlotte said quite evenly, “Mr. Harding, Miss Stanton is indeed a lovely girl, but I cannot think she would be much impressed by this behaviour.”

“But that is why I am here!” he wailed. “For you are her dear friend, so you alone can tell me how to win her affection!”

She let out a breath. “Have you seen Miss Stanton since the ball?”

“Wretch as I am, I have not!” he complained.

Charlotte had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Then perhaps you may first try to court her as you might any other lady before you despair so?”

“But how can I treat her as if she is like any other lady when she is the finest creature in all of England? And besides,” he continued before Charlotte could respond to this moan, “what could she want with a ride in my barouche when her father already has one and could afford any carriage she desired!”

At this Charlotte could no longer stifle laughter. Though she clapped a hand over her mouth, Mr. Harding noticed her amusement but seemed to enjoy the mockery.

“I know, I am a dreadful sight. Pray tell me if she mentioned my name?”

Charlotte considered her last conversation with Dinah, recalling her friend had mentioned her dances and conversations with Mr. Harding most pleasantly but had said nothing about feelings.

“Miss Stanton said you are a very good dancer,” Charlotte said truthfully, hoping it would please him.

He only scoffed. “A comment she might have made about any man – barring Farnsworth, I suppose.”

Charlotte smiled. Perhaps all that had been required to make Mr. Harding a more entertaining conversation partner was for him to fall despairingly in love. It was amusing, but she would tire of it very soon. “I believe Miss Stanton, like many ladies, may require to have met a man on more than one occasion before she thought herself to be in love with him.”

“But how can –“ Mr. Harding began with great feeling before they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Mr. Stringer has arrived, ma’am,” the butler announced.

Relieved, Charlotte asked, “Will you please show him in?”

“Very good.”

“Mr. Harding, I’m afraid I have a prior engagement,” Charlotte said in what she hoped was a consoling tone.

“But you cannot go yet! Have I no hope, Miss Heywood?” he pleaded, drawing closer to her on the chaise, his eyes most imploring as he held her forearm.

It was to this scene that Mr. Stringer entered the parlour and promptly stopped in the doorway after only two steps.

“Mr. Stringer,” Charlotte said. She stood easily, Mr. Harding’s hand falling away. She smiled broadly at her newest visitor, though her smile faded at the utterly blank look on his face.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said roughly. Then he turned on his heel and walked back out.

Charlotte’s eyes widened as she suddenly realised what he must have thought. Berating herself for not considering it, she ran after him, managing to catch him in the otherwise empty hallway only a few steps from the front door.

“Mr. Stringer, wait! Please,” she cried, running in front of him and seizing his hands. “Mr. Harding has only come to solicit my advice for his courtship of Miss Stanton,” she explained hurriedly.

“Miss Stanton?” he repeated, head lifting.

Charlotte nodded, smiling encouragingly at his more open expression. “He called quite unexpectedly; and if he had asked, I should not have told him to visit today for I have been so looking forward to our walk.”

“You have?”

“Yes.” Taking a deep breath, Charlotte remembered Lady Susan’s words and said, “I find they are quite my favourite part of the week.”

Though she had been brave enough to say it, she had not been brave enough to watch his face as she did, but her speech was no less heartfelt for having directed her words at his neckcloth.

She felt his reaction first, his hands squeezing hers and Charlotte revelled at the sensation of his bare hand against hers. Finally, she met his gaze again, her heart lightening when she found he was now smiling at her most tenderly.

“And mine, Miss Heywood,” he said with emotion.

Charlotte smiled back, only dampening it when she recalled she still had another guest to dispatch before she could truly enjoy Mr. Stringer’s company.

He readily agreed to her request to join her in the parlour, their only delay in retiring to that room borne from a reluctance on both sides to drop the other’s hands.

Charlotte consoled herself that it might not be long before she could enjoy that feeling again, believing Mr. Stringer’s presence would make Mr. Harding too embarrassed to discuss the inner workings of his heart, and thus facilitate his swift exit. Perhaps somewhat to his credit, but unfortunately for Charlotte, Mr. Harding had no such shame.

They had met only thrice including the ball, initially through Mr. Grave, but apparently Mr. Harding was in such a state that he deemed this sufficient acquaintance to share his woes in front of the man. His constant bemoaning was mildly more entertaining when she had Mr. Stringer to share an amused look with at every new complaint, but it also made her more anxious for his exit. 

“You saw Miss Stanton at the ball, did you not Mr. Stringer?” he said from where he paced by the window. “Was she not the finest lady you ever saw?”

“She is very pretty.” Mr. Stringer acknowledged.

“Very pretty? What slander; she was the most beautiful woman there!”

Mr. Stringer hesitated before meeting Charlotte’s eyes again intently. “I’m afraid I must disagree.”

Charlotte barely heard Mr. Harding’s affronted response. Desirous of his departure more than ever, Charlotte forced herself to break from Mr. Stringer’s gaze before offering to mention Mr. Harding to Miss Stanton and perhaps arrange a meeting between them if her friend was agreeable. She had not wanted to make such a promise for after seeing his behaviour today she was not sure she wanted to encourage the match. But Dinah could decide her own mind, and perhaps might enjoy the kind of overdramatic declarations of love Mr. Harding would profess.

Mr. Harding was most happy with this suggestion, especially when he thought that the meeting between them might be arranged at the dressmakers so he could see Miss Stanton’s superior dress choosing abilities in person and impress her with his own knowledge.

He was as gracious in his exit as he had been overzealous in his proclamations, and Charlotte could not help but laugh in relief when he had finally gone. Once her laughter had died down though, Charlotte could not fight the rising feeling of expectation within her, especially when Mr. Stringer was still looking at her so intently.

She found she could not meet his eyes and breathe at the same time, so Charlotte turned to recollect herself, and in so doing noticed the book she had left on the chaise.

“I am sorry for our delay,” Charlotte said somewhat unsteadily, reaching for the book to return it to the shelf. “But I will not be long getting ready.”

Mr. Stringer assured her that she need not make haste on his account.

“Have you heard from Mr. Russell about your position?”

“I have.”

“And?” Charlotte asked eagerly, whirling around from the bookcase. She could tell from his smile that he had not been disappointed. “Is it the position you had been hoping for?”

“In fact, it is a better one,” he said with a look that suggested he still might not quite believe it.

Charlotte beamed. “Oh, I am so glad! It is very well deserved.”

Mr. Stringer ducked his head shyly at this praise.

“What will you be working on?” Charlotte asked, moving back to the table in front of the chaise where she had kept her gloves and bonnet in preparation for his arrival. “You must tell me all about it.”

“I will. But first…” Mr. Stringer inhaled deeply. “Miss Heywood, may I show you a design I have been working on?”

Charlotte stopped in the action of picking up her gloves. “Of course. I would be delighted to see it.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of parchment. He appeared to hesitate before walking around the table so he could present it to her.

She glanced at him curiously before opening the fold for his expression was oddly nervous. She could not imagine what he thought she might not like in his design, especially once she had seen it. Her expression immediately turned into a smile. She could tell from the size it was meant to be a house, and quite unlike some of the grand projects he had done sketches for recently. It was still charming and elegant, but without being ostentatious.

“It is wonderful. Who is it for?” she asked eagerly, looking up.

He was studying her most carefully. “You. If you would like it.”

Charlotte's mouth fell open in surprise. Her eyes returning to the parchment, she suddenly realised the reason she liked it so well was because it had the particular features she admired in the houses on the street where they had their first walk together in London. They always passed it when they went to their regular park. She traced her finger over the lines as she let out a shaky breath.

She looked up again with a watery smile and saw the unmistakable hope on his face. “Oh, James…” Unable to find words, she instead surged forward to kiss him, pressing her lips firmly against his until she noticed he had not moved. 

She broke off to find a look of shock on his face, though before she could become too embarrassed it turned into delight. 

They both laughed nervously, but the laughter soon died on Charlotte’s lips when Mr. Stringer’s hands cupped her cheeks most delicately, entirely at odds with the sound kiss that followed – though equally as welcome.

Ultimately, it was not the thought of the propriety of such a kiss when the parlour door was still ajar, but a rather different worry that restored Charlotte’s presence of mind enough to break the embrace. 

"Oh wait,” she said holding the parchment away from her chest, having realised it had nearly become crushed. She sounded rather breathless in explaining, "I don't want to damage it "

He beamed at her. “You do really like it then?”

"Very much.” She nodded. "Thank you." It did not sound enough for how full her heart felt. 

“It is my promise to you; in truth, though my new position is good, I will not be able to give you anything like what you have here, Charlotte,” he said apologetically with a glance around Lady Susan’s parlour.

Charlotte shook her head. “That is no matter to me,” she said, smiling and using her free hand to cup his cheek. “I do not need things, James. Only to know that you love me.”

“Of course, I love you.” He stopped then, his mouth dropping open in shock. “I did not say that loved you!” he exclaimed, looking adorably affronted at himself. "I did mean to; I practiced my proposal, only you surprised me,” he said, gaze flickering to her lips.

Charlotte smiled, clutching the parchment more closely to her chest. "I knew what you meant.”

“I would still like to ask you properly, Charlotte. If you don't mind.”

She laughed happily. "If you insist."

So, taking one of her hands – for Charlotte was still too moved by her gift to let the parchment go, even to let her love take the other – Mr. Stringer dropped to one knee and tried to deliver his proposal as intended.

She was so affected by his words, for it seemed she was indeed his dearest Charlotte, that she did not even notice when they were seen through the gap in the door – gently closed shortly after by the passing maid, who had smiled to herself at sweet Miss Heywood being proposed to by her nice young man. Mr. Stringer only managed to say half of what he had prepared before Charlotte's tears brought him to his feet. Though naturally they were happy tears and Mr. Stringer then found he could not complain that she was too occupied in kissing him to hear the rest of his speech. 

They eventually found themselves seated side by side on the chaise, the sketch safely on the table leaving Charlotte’s hands free to intertwine with his or run through his hair as she chose. Once both had made open their hearts, their easy discourse resumed with a greater intimacy and tenderness than previously shared, neither realising that they had completely forgotten about their walk.

And when James came to take his leave, promising Charlotte again most earnestly that he would one day build her house, she caressed his cheek, before correcting him gently, “Our house. And we shall build it together.”

This, of course, could only be responded to with a kiss.

It was many years before the sketch Charlotte cherished so dearly became a reality. London became their home for longer than they expected, but it had served them well, and when they eventually took their leave it was with fond memories of their time spent there; for how could it not be when it was where they had fallen in love and started their life together.

They'd had many adventures over the years, both in London and away, and their latest had taken them to a town a few hours outside of London. James had received several desirable opportunities previously, but this was the first that fulfilled his ambitions and was located so they could still easily visit and receive their many friends and family. It had not taken them long to decide the town suited them well, and it was where they should like to settle permanently.

As she stood in front of their finished house now, Charlotte thought she would have liked to have the original sketch with her. However, she’d had it framed to hang in their first home and it had become a tradition to display in the parlour whenever they had moved as their family grew, so it was currently in a box with the rest of that room’s items.

Inside the house she could hear the hum of their staff setting up, but it was early enough that outside was still quiet, apart from her husband’s deep tones and the playful shrieks of their children chasing each other.

She had not been able to do as much as she had planned to in the final stages of finishing the house, the reason for that currently in her husband’s arms. Charlotte looked back to her side as James explained the features on the window above them that belonged to the nursery to the little girl; she stared up with bright eyes, far more entranced by her father than her new home.

“If you are trying to bore her back to sleep, it will not work, you know,” Charlotte whispered as she leaned against him.

“How your mama loves to tease us,” he said, amused. Their daughter responded by reaching a chubby fist to his hair, catching a part that was starting to speckle with grey.

She felt a chill pass through the air, so Charlotte adjusted the blanket wrapped around their youngest, moving to take the baby back into her arms.

“Perhaps we should go inside?” James suggested.

She nodded, cradling the baby to her chest before calling to their elder two to join them. The brother and sister ceased running around in circles and ran inside, too excited to finally see their much-discussed new nursery to wait for their parents or sibling, who still could not do anything interesting yet.

Charlotte returned James’ soft smile as she took his hand and they walked in together.

**Author's Note:**

> ETA Jan 2020: Now we're off anon, I've posted a little edit for this fic on my [tumblr here](https://useyourtelescope.tumblr.com/post/190127206788/does-enchantment-pour-out-of-every-door-sanditon).


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